The Young Ivan Series
by lightningmouse
Summary: A series of drabbles focusing on a young Ivan. Featuring Miles, of course, along with several other characters at one moment or another...
1. The First Meeting

**Title**:: The First Meeting  
**Words** :: 172  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 1/42

---

"Miles? You remember your cousin, right?"

A mulish nod followed a pointed look, the dark haired boy thrusting out his chin - with a small wince - in a challenging greeting.

Or maybe, Ivan thought, he'd been trying to head butt him from a distance. If he could even _see_ him through that black eye he was sporting. Or get to him what with_both_ his legs being in casts.

The glance towards the casts was noticed and rewarded with a ferocious scowl and all the glaring a four year old could bring to bear. Which seemed to be a quite a bit more than Ivan had ever imagined possible.

Right. Time to break out the charm, thought Ivan. This worked with all the wrinkly old aunts… "So. You broke you legs riding the old man's favorite horse, huh?"

"Don't you call Grandfather an old man!" It seemed a four year old _could_ in fact scowl even more than he'd already been doing. This was getting unnerving.

"That's a really big horse."

"Yes! The biggest!"

"Cool."

"…you think?"

And with that, Ivan knew the game was won.

---

_**Author's Note **: I have 42 of these to write. That's what I get for telling someone to pick a number for their birthday, eh? ;) I'm going to chapter them all, since 1) they're drabbles anyway and 2) yeesh, talk about an author page getting too long otherwise._


	2. Just follow the plan

**Title**:: Just follow the plan...  
**Words** :: 207  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 2/42

---

This had _not_ gone according to plan. Ivan, sighing heavily, dragged his feet back to Miles' room while remembering the rather stinging lecture his mother had delivered but moments ago. Only the look of amusement in aunt Cordelia's eyes had saved him from utter despair. That and the niggling suspicion that he'd been set up for a fall, being the cute one and thus able to worm his way out of trouble with more ease.

A bright, disarming smile greeted his upon his return to the play room, the prize for all their efforts held up aloft proudly, the smell of freshly baked cookies redolent in the air. The casts on Miles' legs were bright in the sunlight streaming through the window, nary a mark upon them though the signs of heavy tear and wear were hard to miss.

"That was awesome, Ivan! You escaped! As a former prisoner of war, first pick is yours!"

Hrm. Maybe his cousin really hadn't planned for Ivan being caught after all, the delight on Miles' face, along with the obvious approval being something of a balm for his wounded pride. Satisfied with that thought, Ivan stepped forward to accept his accolades, all thoughts about exacting righteous retribution for the punishment inflicted upon him forgotten.


	3. Where even Angels fear to tread

**Title** :: Where even Angels fear to tread...  
**Words** :: 167  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 3/42

---

"Do you think it'll bite?"

Ivan stared down the small hole Miles had dragged him too, all urgency and pleading looks. "I dunno. Probably. I've never seen anything like this, though." With that, Ivan reached out one hand, curious - only to snatch it back with an aggrieved look, sticking one scratched digit in his mount while muttering indignantly around it.

"Oh thure! Take a thwipe at me! Thupid furball!"

Grinning widely, after yanking Ivan's finger closer for a minute inspection before releasing it back to its owner, Miles turned around to inspect the whole again. And then stuck his hand in, to the elbow, seemingly oblivious to the sudden outburst of hissing and snarling which resulted from the action.

"…"

Proudly, Miles held up the still squirming, furiously hissing ball of fur, beaming brilliantly at Ivan.

"C'mon! Let's get Mother to take a look at it!"

"…only you."

With a put upon sigh, Ivan followed Miles, who was carefully holding the kitten at (bloodied) arm's length, cooing at it reassuringly the entire way back to the estate.


	4. Spheres of Influence

**Title** :: Spheres of Influence  
**Words** :: 272  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 4/42

---

There are a lot of things that are too complicated for a six year old to understand and Ivan knows and accepts this. Miles, on the other hand, isn't quite so reasonable, to the point where sometimes even Ivan wants to smack him upside the head and drag him off so that the harassed looking staff Miles keeps pestering with questions and remarks don't look so terrified anymore whenever the miniature dynamo's voice is heard echoing down the halls.

Finally, one day, he gives in and does just that - lightly so, at the last minute, remembering how brittle Miles' bones are, and making sure to run off fast while making faces at the other boy. Miles follows, with cheerful promises of murder and mayhem and horrible ginormous revenge being howled out as they exit the mansion and head out for the gardens.

All the bruises and trouble of that afternoon is made worth it later that night, though Ivan had no idea it would turn out this way. But the second serving of dessert left in the guest room for him, brightly colored syrups spelling out the words "Thank you, m'lord" along with a small wrapped package of candies make for a very happy Ivan that night.

And the next day, while sharing the candy with Miles, he notices the secretly approving looks from the gardener, and he has no doubts at all that the staff intended for those candies to be shared all along.

For all that he's an unholy terror, the staff are just as enraptured with Miles as anyone else who has ever come into contact with him.


	5. Chaos

**Title** :: Chaos  
**Words** :: 309  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 5/42

---

It's chaos right now, with everyone running around in circles, waving their arms and panicking in very specific, panicky ways which involve doing precious little good in return for lots of annoying wailing and running about. Sighing, Ivan stares up at the ceiling, bored out of his skull and takes another deep breath, holding it until the corners of his eyes start to sparkle with dots before letting it go slowly. He's been questioned three times already and told them exactly what he knew – nothing. And that Miles would be back soon enough and that there was nothing to panic about.

So when Miles tromps in through the back door, grinning like a maniac while cradling a broken arm, blood dripping to the floor from somewhere though his ripped up shirt, Ivan isn't surprised, really. One of the kitchen staff shrieks, then faints dead away at the sight of him though, while Aunt Cordelia seems to forget how to breathe and Bothari swoops down on the diminutive boy like a great big bird of prey, carrying him off to the main hall where the doctor that was called in has set up his equipment.

And Ivan, catching Miles' eye as he's carried off like a sack of potatoes and seeing the promise of a _very_ good story for later held in the near manic gleam in the other boy's eyes, thinks that maybe next time, when he says that Miles will be back when Miles is good and ready to come back, someone will actually listen to him.

Or then again, probably not, considering this is hardly the first time this happens. Sighing once more, he returns to staring at the ceiling, with a very put-upon expression for a six year old, while managing to hide the grin of anticipation at the story to come with already practiced ease.


	6. The New Toy

**Title** :: The new toy  
**Words** :: 169  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 6/42

----

Cherry red and sparkling under the sun, the miniature lightflyer buzzed over their heads, dancing along the lines of clouds framing the skies above them with agile turns and graceful swoops. Silver glints dashed through the clearing each time the light hit the small craft a particular way, the crimson streak drawing awed sighs from both boys as they alternately guided it through the air, the admiring silence broken further only by the sound of the engine propelling the airborne toy at increasingly high speeds.

The sudden swerve to the right was both unexpected and damning. The dive was perfect however, a downward plunge towards the ground, gravity laying down its claim on the toy without forgiveness or forbearance.

The look of the bride as she gazed over the ruined wedding cake, frosting covering her and the stunned groom from nearly head to toe in a delicate splatter pattern showed no mercy at all.

Miles and Ivan wisely decided a retreat was by _far_ the better part of valor.


	7. Hope

**Title** :: Hope  
**Words**:: 323  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 7/42  
**Key Words** :: hammer, fancy, sapphire

---

The music drifted through the audience, the holoscreen taking up the entirety of the far wall of the Betan embassy's ball room – and everyone's attention besides, rapt fascination mingled with disgust riveting the soirée's guests where they stood.

Four arms moved in synchronous motion, the delicate hammers held by the quaddie hitting the strings of the dulcimer with incomparable grace, teasing out a song from the instrument which reminded Ivan of the horses on the Vorkosigan estate, racing through the fields in the early morning as the sun rose to greet the day. It was somehow wistful and sad and happy all at once, speaking of better days and things to come, and left him wanting to somehow be able to go right through the image projected by the holo-emitter to hug the player.

Eyes brighter than his mother's favored sapphire pendant suddenly looked up at them all, piercing through the entire assembly and somehow sweeping over and through them, as though they were all inconsequential and the music had nothing to do with them at all. And found the two little boys at the end of the room, neatly tucked away in a corner where the adults wouldn't notice them or shoo them back to the children's area. One, short and misshapen in shape, was smiling at her in unabashed delight while the other alternated between staring at her or at his friend in troubled wonder.

Perhaps, Pol thought as she bent her head to focus on her playing once more, the distance between she and her audience due to the holo transmission wasn't affecting her performance as she thought it would. Perhaps those people of Barrayar, who hated mutants such as she despite all their fancy proclamations of being 'better' might one day see the light, as the Betan ambassador had said when he'd invited her to play for the evening.

Yes. Perhaps... perhaps there was hope for Barrayar yet.

---

Years later...

_Peace to you, small lady, he thought to Raina. You've won a twisted poor modern knight, to wear your favor on his sleeve. But it's a twisted poor world we were both born into, that rejects us without mercy and ejects us without consultation. At least I won't just tilt at windmills for you. I'll send in sappers to mine the twirling suckers, and blast them into the sky..._  
Miles Vorkosigan, The Mountains of Mourning.

---

_Author's note: Please makes sure to read The Mountains of Mourning, a novella by Bujold, which shows well how mutants are treated in Barrayaran society._


	8. Solitude

**Title** :: Solitude  
**Words** :: 228  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 8/42  
**Key Words** :: desk, sound, curtains

---

The rich velvet curtains hung heavy and drab against the window, the sunlight's struggle to pierce through the dark brown fabric going largely unnoticed by the room's occupant, despite the glints of silver sparkling out now and then from the edges. Morosely, he stared ahead, ignoring the news clip flashing by on the sleek holo-emitter on his desk. The estate of the art piece of technology was severely out of place in the anachronistic room, standing out to an almost startling degree. However, it usually went unnoticed by most visitors, only one thing attracted the notice of any particularly unfortunate soul which might happen to be summoned to this particular room.

A small knock broke the silence, the sound timid and subdued. After a moment – a precisely calculated three seconds, no more and no less – the door opened and two small boys stepped inside to shuffle their way to the large desk, heads bent in obvious remorse.

The old man suspected it had far more to do with having been _caught_ as opposed to any actual regret.

Well.

That would change soon enough, Piotr thought with a thinly amused smile. In the instant that followed, his glare was firmly leveled upon them, petrifying both Ivan and Miles in place the instant they looked up.

"We didn't _mean_ to!"


	9. Colors

**Title** :: Colors  
**Words** :: 352  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 9/42  
**Key Words** :: color, patient, shy

---

Resting in the bed, Miles stares up at the ceiling and tries to ignore the pain from the latest operation. Tthe old woman smiles shyly at him as she carefully sets down a bouquet of flowers on a table (far away, in case of possible natural contaminants his special cares unit might object to), the petals rustling slightly to and fro in a very behaved and proper wave of colors. It occurs to him that he's always looking up, really, and always will be. And to defy that, just for a moment, he tries to look elsewhere, and his gaze ends up turning to the side towards the table, since looking towards his toes is impossible at the moment. The smaller wildflowers tucked in the side of the bouquet let him know that it's from Ivan's mother, with Ivan and Elena having added their own gifts to it. That would be why it's been allowed through security, though it likely doesn't have the exact shape it used to have, he thinks. But it doesn't matter and though it feels like his entire body aches nonstop and his fingers keep twitching at odd moments, moreso now he suspects, since he's probably trying to reach for those tiny wildflowers, brilliant reds and purples and yellows which clash entirely with the bouquet and yet are the prettiest and bestest he's ever seen. There are no windows for him to look through right now (too high a security risk) but the flowers keep his attention, turning him into a model patient for a few hours, much to the nursing staff's relief.

They are glad there is no other escape attempt that day, nor the risk of further injuries to the young demon they care for far too often. They hope he will leave soon and not come back for a while, though they know his return is inevitable, the procedures far from finished. But they never speak of it so, even when they compete to their very best amongst themselves to work for the days and hours young Lord Miles will be spending in the recovery unit.


	10. Realities

**Title** :: Realities  
**Words** :: 668  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 10/42  
**Key Words** :: fierce, toxic, shadow

---

The air smelled acrid, the toxic aftertaste of explosives lingering in their mouths and throats, every gasp for air painful to the small boys huddling under the table, Ivan shielding a still highly upset Miles who had finally stopped struggling not too long ago. Ivan could feel something warm trickling down his shoulder but he still didn't move, even though all he wanted to do was call for his mother and then hide in her skirts, any pretense at being anything but a very small and very scared little boy throw out the window in a heartbeat. Miles was quiet and resigned, wedged as he was between the wall and Ivan, with great heavy oak framing them on all sides but one.

But his mother wasn't there, nor was anyone else and Miles was still fragile from the recent operation to modify the curvature of his spine and Ivan was the only one _there_ to keep Miles from doing something deadly stupid. Because he hated seeing Miles put on that brave smile and pretend nothing hurt and he hated it even more when he heard Miles crying at night from the pain he hid during the da. But above all, he hated the thought of a Miles hurt so badly he couldn't even pretend it didn't hurt. Or dead, like Ivan's father, something which made Ivan's mind skitter in all sorts of bad ways and push back slightly even more, Miles never making a sound of protest despite the pressure it must put on his brittle bones.

A form loomed out of the smoke and shadows whirling in the room, distant cries echoing through the hallways of what had to be the opened door of the office, but Ivan couldn't make out the words, his ears still ringing loudly from the force of the concussive grenade which had been lobbed through the window.

Fierce and dark, a well know face broke through the darkness and Ivan nearly sobbed in relief, small body slumping down as exhaustion won over adrenaline and fear, fatigue sweeping through him.

"Bothari!" Miles voice piped up from behind him, the sound drawing a flicker of something from the huge man's eyes, which Ivan fancied was both relief and a promise of bloody murder to be perpetrated later, when small children were no longer present and the ones responsible for the attempt had been caught. "Bothari! Ivan's been _hurt_!" Indignation and anger rang through the clear voice, nearly directly against Ivan's ears, enough so that he could make them out.

He finally dared to look at his shoulder and a moment later, a yelp from Miles confirmed for Bothari that his charge's companion had fainted dead away. Without a word, he set about extricating the small human shield from under the table first, cradling Ivan carefully in one arm before reaching for Miles with a care and tenderness few people would ever have through Bothari capable of.

"It'll be all right, Ivan. Bothari's here now," Miles said loudly, hearing as damaged as that of his cousin. "It'll be just fine."

Bothari did not bother to correct Miles, nor to let him know that things had been all right far earlier than then. But he did make sure to use his body to hide the destroyed wall beyond them from sight, as well as the way half the room and desk were covered in rubble and glass. 

All that had happened the moment Ivan had stuffed Miles under the desk and in the moments that had followed, as far as Bothari could tell. He held the boy carefully in one arm, juggling Miles with the other, all the while being ready to kick the face in of anyone unwise enough to offer them threat. Doing so without jarring the shard of glass in Ivan's arm would be tricky, but Bothari was confident he could manage it.

It was the least he could do to thank Ivan for standing in his stead, however briefly so, after all.


	11. That which shapes us

**Title** :: That which shapes us  
**Words** :: 943  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 11/42

---

Miles waits on the front steps of the estate, Bothari lurking in the shadows like some ridiculously overlarge presage of ill-omen. He'd try to shoo him off, but he knows better than to even consider such a notion, not because Bothari would rather die than risk leaving Miles alone, but because Bothari somehow feels that he failed in some way during the assassination attempt and infuriatingly won't tell Miles _why_. So he puts up with Bothari's skulking about, and the gardener plucking at a bush which needs no shearing or maintenance, and the butler hovering behind the door just in case it might need opening and the maids airing out carpets and rooms always on the same side of the building Miles might happen to be in, without a word or a frown, because somehow saying something would be horribly wrong of him.

The hovercraft arrives without much fanfare at all and Ivan clambers out of it carefully and a bit stiffly, which makes Miles scowl because the one who usually walks that way is _him_, not agile and quick Ivan. The sling in which Ivan's arm is lost is startlingly white against the dark jumpsuit the boy is wearing, though it doesn't obscure the bright, cheerful smile sent his way, which somehow manages to undo the knots in Miles' stomach while all at once making them all congregate to his throat instead.

So Miles scampers down the steps in a crablike scuttle to get to Ivan as quickly as possible so that Ivan won't have to go up the steps, and Ivan smiles brightly and tells him everything is fine and that it's just a scratch and why don't they do play in the garden near the house today instead of the field like they'd planned the previous week. That it was before the north wall of the mansion got blown in isn't mentioned or hinted at, though the thought looms large and heavy over both boys for a moment, until Ivan reaches forward with his good hand and yanks Miles carefully away, daring him to a race. Laughter is born once more, unsteady at first and then suddenly bright and vital, filling the empty spaces of sound which had found their way on the estate since the explosion.

Bothari skulks in the shadows as he tails after them. The gardener finds suddenly very urgent tasks beckoning him towards the back garden. The maids hastily pull in carpets and drapes from the windows and set them aside to be dealt with later, and hasten about the other side of the mansion in a flurry of dresses, to deal with the curtains and carpets which happen to be by the windows near a garden where two boys find a picnic ready and waiting for them, and a cook hovering in the doorway ready to fulfill their every culinary wish and command.

Miles' eyes keep going to the bright sling gleaming under the sunlight as realization slowly sets in and the shadows in which Bothari lurks grow longer as the afternoon goes by. Ivan's tray is constantly and carefully kept filled with his most favorite treats and drinks, and several notes and packages find their way in his jacket which the butler took away not long ago – thank you m'lords and small gifts, neatly tucked away here and there for him to find later. It takes all of Ivan's efforts to keep Miles distracted during that afternoon and Ivan thinks he may have managed to do so well enough, but by the time he has to go back home, he's determined that there will be no sling tomorrow. It will stay in the car that drops him off and he'll put it back on after he gets back in and there will be no reminders from him that Ivan was, after all, hurt while protecting Miles.

Miles puts up with the distractions and even dives in headlong after a while, and by the time the afternoon is done, he walks Ivan carefully back to the front, making _sure_ Bothari is nearby and that he's going slowly enough that the gardener can keep pace on the outskirts of the hedge. It's not a lie to say that his back is a bit sore, after all, because it always is and slowing down suits him just fine, if it means keeping Ivan closer to Bothari, who is nodding in approval each time Miles stops to check on the gardener's progress, or waves at the maids beaming at them both through the windows. Humility is thus learned in the space of a few hours.

Silent promises are made as Ivan carelessly hops in the hovercraft, waving his good hand frantically at Miles as the craft slowly departs, the two guards within carrying weapons well in sight. Ivan thinks he will have to get better at this seeming innocuous while getting Miles stuffed into small spaces whenever things blow up, and maybe Bothari can help. Miles thinks he will have to get better at protecting himself and those who are important to him, so that no one will need to get in the way of an explosion and him, never ever again.

And maybe, Bothari can help.

Bothari remains in the shadows and hopes that no one asks him if those responsible for the bombing might have met him before they were found dead a few days later, their bodies nearly unrecognizable. And he waits for the boys to finally decide to approach him, each on their own, to get stronger so that they can protect each other, while never telling the other what they are up to.


	12. Dragons

**Title** :: Dragons  
**Characters** :: Ivan, Gregor  
**Words** :: 105  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 12/42

---

Ivan and Gregor stare up at the painting in the hallway, the latter's father glaring down at them with a fierce mien.

"One day, I'll be a dragon too," Gregor murmurs, though he doesn't seem sure it's really what he wants, or should be. Ivan gives the painting a knowing look, but contents himself with slinging an arm around the future monarch's shoulders, shaking him a bit.

"You'll be a good dragon. And you'll do things _right_."

Gregor flashes him a quick smile of gratitude, and wonders why it is that sometimes, just sometimes, Ivan knows exactly what to say, and how to say it.


	13. The Scariest Thing of All

**Title** :: The Scariest Thing of All For Five Years Old Boys (Except Ivan)  
**Words** :: 151  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 13/42

---

When Miles had rushed through his room and opened the window, hopping out with a slightly panicky air about him, Ivan had been a touch nonplussed, but hadn't argued nor tried to stop him.

Frankly, he knew better. Instead he tilted his head to the side and regarded the doorway with a contemplative expression, waiting patiently to see who would come through next.

The gold encased slipper peeking through the doorway was his first clue. The mass of shining golden curls followed by an impossibly cute face was the next. Inwardly, Ivan grinned like the cat that got the canary, while outwardly offering a consoling, sympathetic expression for the petite and very very cute for a seven year old Lady Tiffany, as he strolled forward to inform her that her erstwhile victim had escaped.

Even as a five year old, Ivan had always liked the girls to be older than he.


	14. Not Quite All Grown Up

**Title** :: Not Quite All Grown Up  
**Words** :: 438  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 14/42

---

The small boy stood in the shadows, staring at the few people in the distance beyond, each of them quietly paying their respects to the father he had never known. It was the same very year, and with each visit, his resentment grew until this year, he'd refused to even go near the grave. It had been a hard stand to take, for a little boy all of six years of age. But his anger towards a father who had died, rather than stay alive to know his son, had grown enough that it had been a stand he had been _able_ to make. And so Ivan stood on his own, telling himself he was old enough to do that, now.

It took the boy a while to realize there was someone else standing nearby, the shadows stretching around bigger than they had any right to be, for a child his size. So he turned around, and looked up – and up – into the calm, steady gaze of Lord Aral Vorkosigan. As was his habit, the man didn't kneel down to talk to him, something which the boy had taken to despise of late, whenever an adult did so in that gently sympathetic and infuriating way. Sympathy wouldn't bring his father back, after all.

Nothing was said as Ivan turned back to look at the grave, one nobleman buried among many others, all of them dead and long gone. Six years was a long time, for someone who had been born mere hours after his father had died. A very long time indeed.

The two kept their quiet, distant vigil as groups of people came and went, each of them stopping to pay their respects to the tall, dignified window standing by the memorial grave. As the visits slowed, then stopped altogether, Aral took a few steps, standing beside Ivan rather than at his shoulder, unable to repress a small, sad smile at the way Ivan had been standing so tall and straight-backed. Just as his father always had, when debating an argument or when standing up to those who would perpetrate yet more infamies. After a long while, once the boy's mother finally relented and stepped away from the grave, to start her slow walk towards the living, he finally spoke, his voice low and gravely and endlessly serene.

"Never fear, Ivan. You'll find your own way, when the time comes. There's no rush."

Aral said nothing more as the tears finally came, nor as the boy's resolve finally broke and he flung himself forward towards his mother, to cry in her arms as any small child would.


	15. Climbing Trees

**Title** :: Climbing Trees  
**Words** :: 332  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 15/42

---

The smile on the little boy's face was nothing if not downright wicked, she thought, staring up with a mildly worried thrum vibrating through her heart. Cheerfully egged on by the other boy on the ground – sporting a cast on one arm and using a cane to move about no less – he waved one hand at her in merry abandon, drawing a gasp of fright from her as his hold on the branch seemed to evaporate for a moment. He didn't fall, however, going on his precarious escalade with childish abandon, somehow scrambling several feet higher in the blink of an eye. Holding her breath she waited, wondering what the aim of the whole escapade was, before a low voice resonated from the shadows nearly drew a shriek of fright from her.

"Lord Ivan will not fall."

Once she was convinced that her heart would not leap out of her throat, she turned to face the man in the shadows, an unnerving figure skulking just out of obvious sight. Someone she had yet to get used to, since she'd arrived at the Vorkosigan household.

"Lord Ivan will not fall, for if he did, then Lord Miles would not be able to watch him climb." 

The maid blinked at Bothari's rock-solid logic, and then slowly turned to look at the scene again, this time with a new, growing insight. The boy swarming up and down the tree like a monkey never slowed, glancing down only now and then to make sure his audience was still present and keeping still, while the boy on the ground watched avidly, limbs sometimes twitching slightly as though echoing the motions high up above in the branches. The wind ceased blowing as she watched, only the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the peaceful mood that descended upon the gardens, and the maid watched, as did the man in the shadows, the melon ice cream on the tray she was holding forgotten and slowly melting away in the sun.


	16. Birds of a Feather

**Title** :: Birds of a Feather  
**Words** :: 526  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 16/42

---

His wife was going to kill him, Aral decided. It wasn't that she'd dislike the idea, he thought – just that she'd resent not having thought of it herself, or at the very least, not having been invited for the ride. But, it had been very much a sudden impulse, he comforted himself, and surely she'd understand...

Twin shrieks of glee interrupted that morose train of thoughts, the brief moment of amused gloom very quickly fading away at the sight of the two boys bunched up in the front seat in a melee of wriggling, flailing arms and pointing fingertips.

"Didja see that, Ivan!? That was the _palace_!" Miles, face pressed to the glass, waved a recently cast released arm a touch too enthusiastically for his father's peace of mind, but interrupting the boy now would serve no purpose at all.

"I saw! It was _eenie_!" The word was spoken with clearly enunciated, boyish glee, Ivan's face only half-smooshed against the window, granting Miles a better viewing vantage than his. This fact was noticed in the following moment, the smaller boy immediately – and very effectively – elbow gouging his cousin to a better shared vantage point. "Stop squirming away Ivan, it's not like you're afraid of heights! Or are you?" The mocking taunt was small boy speak for 'stop going easy on me, I'm not broken today' between the two, a pattern those around them had noticed early on and pretended to never notice, for fear of embarrassing the children. Or so the adults kept telling themselves, as did Aral, even as he looked away briefly, blinking away overly bright eyes.

It had been so close. Had the boys been in the office but a few seconds earlier, had reached the window just as the bomb went off...

With a sharply indrawn breath, Lord Aral Vorkosigan tilted the flyer to the side, and started accelerating, taking the boys through another trip over the city, each maneuver accompanied by hollering and shouts of approval, their countenances finally showing the delight all children should show, rather than the stolid forging along which had been etched on their features since the attempted on Miles' life. For however long this might last, any subsequent trouble could be endured.

Bothari followed out of sight, he knew, in a flyer of his own. And a faint ghostly echo on his radar brought a small, grim smile to Aral's face.

Cordelia, it would seem, followed as well, stalking behind them all with unwavering fierceness, ready to bring down any who might offer the ghost of a threat to them while they were in the skies, just as she did at any other time.

Perhaps he would not be in as much trouble as he had thought he might be, after all, he realized. Mind set at ease, Aral glanced at the surveillance monitors on the flyer's board one last time, then set his attention entirely to the flight itself, intent on providing the boys with a flyer tour they would never forget.

They were safe, all of them, so long as they looked out for each other.

It was the surest, truest thing Aral knew.


	17. Ruined

**Title** :: Ruined  
**Words** :: 176  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 17/42

---

When he was all of two years old, Ivan had been thrown the bestest party ever by a friend of his mother's. The woman had fussed and primped and been so blatantly obvious in her attempts to earn either forgiveness or favors (his mother had never told him which) that Ivan, with all of his two years of age, had been quite enraptured by the show.

It had been a more interesting show than the sight of toddlers giving up the pretence at manners to run about screaming like any toddler normally would, while having an utter and absolute blast, and in the midst of it all, Ivan had been struck by how overwhelmingly serene and in control his mother had been. At the center of a bevy of pandering noblewomen and howling, happy children, his mother had reigned supreme.

Years later, a glum Ivan was quite direct in informing his mother that it was all _her_ fault he'd yet to find a girl that held any interest for him.

She'd laughed at him for days.


	18. Elaborate Plans

**Title** :: Elaborate plans  
**Words** :: 145  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 18/42  
**Key Words** :: braid, caterpillar, emperor.

---

Ivan would have laughed, were it not for the rapt expression on the face of Miles' tiny audience.

As his confounded cousin watched on, Miles enthusiastically planned and plotted, young Gregor apparently following every single meaning and intent hidden in all of Miles' grandiose gestures without any difficulty at all.

A caterpillar on a nearby tree branch paused in its progress to test the air and Ivan shook his head, taking comfort in what interaction he could get, as minimal and unlikely to reply as it was.

"Truly, I have no idea how he does it."

The blast of water arching over the fence caught them all by surprise, and a victorious Elena giggled madly, the braid of her hair flopping madly as she held on to the bucking hose, making sure to drench all three indignantly howling boys thoroughly as they fled in defeat.


	19. Cook's Tradition

**Title** :: Cook's Tradition  
**Words** :: 339  
**Birthday Drabble Count** :: 19/42  
**Key Words** :: pickle, jump, algae

---

The war had been long and hard, but they were now closer to victory than they'd ever been before. At least, that was how Miles was stating it. Ivan was – for once – inclined to believe him. Their enemies were many and vile, floating in their natural environment with smug confidence, taunting them endlessly over the years. But soon, this would all end.

Creeping stealthily in the shadows, they moved forward, their victims entirely unaware of their impending doom.

With a leap and a fierce howl, Miles pounced, drawing a startled yelp from the kitchen aid, and a bellow of consternation from the head cook, as every single jar of pickles prepared for the year's reserve went flying in every direction. Glass containers landed on the kitchen floor in perfect, shattering harmony and the smell of vinegar soon filled the entire room.

Ivan, still half crouched, half standing where both he and Miles had been waiting in ambush, stared up at the profile of the cook, as his head slowly turned to lock into the form of the smaller of the two boys. And frantically wished he could make himself smaller and find a hole to scurry into.

For all that he was just as fanatically devoted to Miles as the rest of the household, the man was, nonetheless, still a _cook_.

One hand snapped for the butcher's knife on a nearby cutlery stand, the other stretched out for Miles.

"MY PICKLES!"

With a meep of dismay, Miles scrambled back towards Ivan, even as the kitchen aid slapped one hand over her mouth, eyes wide with hilarity.

"MY PRECIOUS PICKLES!"

The sight of the two boys racing through the house pursued by a head chef brandishing a very large knife, though unusual, was considered overall to be far tamer than most of the situations the two boys usually managed to land themselves in. Everyone also emphatically agreed it had been a good thing for the cook that Bothari had been dragged off to shop by young Elena (much to the shop keepers' consternation).


	20. Generations

**Title **:: Generations**  
Words **:: 238**  
Birthday Drabble Count **:: 20/42**  
Prompts **:: avenue, throne, candy

---

Gregor practically gaped at the boy trotting up the red carpet leading up to the throne, the child ignoring the sudden silence falling upon the room with supreme indifference. Scrambling up the steps and pausing only a moment to offer both King and Queen a calm nod, the boy then leaned down to crouch by the slightly younger girl seated at Gregor's feet, looking up at the other child with wide eyes. After a moment of mutual inspection, both children straightened, solemn looks etched on their faces.

"Hi! Wanna be friends?" The boy stretched out one hand to seal the offer, a gesture he'd seen his father do countless times.

"M'kay!" Royal ceremony and rules entirely forgotten, then young girl nodded firmly and returned the gesture, both children shaking on it. A bright smile broke through the seriousness and the girl bounced up, settling carefully on her feet as the royal nanny nearly strangled herself from somewhere behind the throne, trying to think of a way to restore some dignity to her charge. "The kitchen's just finished making a new batch of bug candy," she stage whispered a small yet devious grin on her face. "Wanna go get some?"

Both children vanished (nanny in tow) within a heartbeat and standing in the doorway of the throne room, still looking entirely puzzled by how his son had yet again escaped him, Ivan could only offer Gregor a sheepish smile.


	21. Home

**Title **:: Home**  
Words **:: 147**  
Birthday Drabble Count **:: 21/42**  
Prompts **:: Gray, clouds, puddle

---

The members of the mansion move along their appointed tasks efficiently and smoothly, never pausing even once to acknowledge the two boys huddle by the window and staring out through the grayness outside.

By the time they have donned their rain gear and are running around under the rainy clouds and through the puddles, splashing water wherever they go, the warm towels and change of clothing are already by the door. Hovering nearby is a little maid whose task will be to warn the older staff when the boys come back in, so that they may wrestle the protesting children ("No really! We're water monsters, you're killing us, aigh!") into dry outfits and then push mugs of thick hot chocolate into their eager, chilled hands so that they may be warmed up and fussed over, as all little boys coming out of the rain ought to be.


	22. Compassion

**Title **:: Compassion**  
Words **:: 275**  
Birthday Drabble Count **:: 22/42**  
Prompts **:: Crossover, River Tam - Bubble gum

---

River stared at the bright pink piece of something being handed to her in utter solemnity (really, it's good!) and then looked down at the little boy teetering and tottering while trying to balance himself by holding two crutches in one hand, at the same time trying to explain to her that it was bubble gum and she'd like it, right up until the other little boy, all dark eyes and serious worried thoughts scrambled up to them hurriedly and braced him, scolding him (you scared me stupid!) for disappearing like that.

"She looked so sad!" was the explanation, and faced with the sudden beacon light of _two_ such endless wellsprings of concern and worry (oh, she's pretty!) River smiled through her tears, even as she leaned down to hug them both - carefully, oh so carefully and the surprised look in the taller boy's eyes was nothing next to the glow of gratitude she felt from him, even as the sharp worry faded to dancing, colorful delight.

She saw how great one could be - would be - and how the other would always, always be there to watch over him until the day the tables were turned around and the fragile little boy now squirming in her embrace (ew, wait, girl!) would return years of watchful care with focused, determined attention of his own.

Neither of them stood a chance against each other. (Hi Simon! Look, it's us!) River laughed cheerfully, the sound drawing bright smiles from the two children and a hint of cautious relief from the dearly darkness lurking in the corner (no killing today, maybe tomorrow?) and accepted the gum.


	23. In the Shadow

**Title **:: In the Shadow**  
Words **:: 205**  
Prompts **:: In someone's shadow

Ivan stood tall and straight behind Miles, watching the proceedings over the other boy's shoulder with hawk-like intensity. Though Barrayaran society did their best to pretend the hunched-backed child didn't exist, events like this made it impossible for them to follow their usual routine. Miles disarmed them all with determined smiles and unwavering courtesy, and while some sneered openly the second they turned away, a few of the older, wiser members of the elite would sometimes frown and wonder for a brief instant before retreating into the crowd.

Only Cordelia noticed that each time the smaller boy moved, Ivan did as well, meticulously staying within a portion of Miles' shadow every instant of the evening.

He smiled with each whispered suggestion he gave Miles, with each small gesture keeping him firmly behind the other youngster. A ghost of a smile, a secret knowing smile meant only for himself - each and every single time.

Cordelia would have grieved at seeing Ivan start such a game when so young, were it not for the knowledge that the promises Ivan silently made to her son now, Miles would one day repay a thousand fold.

In that respect, she knew, Miles was in every way his mother's child.


	24. Crossover: Leverage 1

**How to end up in the wrong universe at the best possible moment**_  
Leverage/Young Ivan crossover_

"Get back here!" Parker's voice was snappish and waspish and all sorts of bad things that'd have Eliot and Sophie making _those_ faces at her (though Sophie might think about it twice as Parker had made a point of mentioning how wrinkly her face was each time she made that face, ha!). "Stop that! You little-"

"You're not supposed to call small children names, miss!" The little boy's voice was serious and something else Parker had no idea how to identify and he stole another look at her from behind the corner they'd just rounded before he was handily yanked away by his companion, whose annoyed commentary he was completely ignoring in favor of stealing looks at the blonde thief whenever possible.

"I didn't call you anything!" She hadn't had the time, but that was just a detail. So there. "Look, I don't know where you two came from but we need to get you back before the scientists get back from their coffee break and stuff you back in this stupid machine and-" Parker paused, both in speech and motion, head tilting slowly to the side.

Wait. Where _had_ they come from?

~*~

"I think we lost her. Wow, she was scary!"

"Was not!" Ivan's expression shifted from harried to one of suffused delight. "She was _pretty_!"

"IVAN!"

"She was the prettiest lady I've ever seen!" Ivan nodded firmly to make his point,

"...really?" Parker stared down at the boy, ignoring the airless squawks of dismay they emitted at realizing she was _right behind them_. Still staring, she slowly crouched down until she was nose to nose with the older of the two boys, somehow aware that she should be the one leading this discussion. But...

"Really pretty, miss!" Smile blossoming, Ivan turned on the charm, knowing only too well how to turn the situation to his and Miles' advantage.

"...Ivan..."

"Shut up, Miles." The boy waiting until she straightened up and then raised a hand to her in greeting, all straight and solemn and looking at her as though she were the prettiest diamond he'd ever seen. Oh.

"This is Miles. He's an uncultured beast. We can pretend we don't know him," he added conspiratorially, ignoring the groan of disgust from the other boy. "I'm Ivan. And you are?"

Then he kissed the back of her hand instead of shaking it. Parker giggle-snorted, then raised her free hand to hide her nose (she didn't care what people thought of her giggle-snorts, dammit). But the boy was still smiling and oh, yeah, diamonds felt like this all right, Parker knew. She'd always _wondered_ but now she knew and maybe the giggle-snorting wasn't so bad after all, Parker decided. Or the little boys. Because Ivan was practically _hovering_ he wanted to stand between her and Miles so badly and it was so _obvious_ he wanted to protect the other boy that it really, really easy for Parker to make her decision.

~*~

"Hi guys! I'm back, the lab's clean. Oh, and this is Ivan! He's cute! And this is Miles, break him and I'll kill you! Can I keep 'em? They're a package deal."

Hardison gaped at the sight of the blonde thief with two moppets clinging to her, one smiling winningly and the other hiding his face against her shoulder with a dark, despairing mutter.

"...Parker..."

"What? You said I should make more friends, right?"

Sophie, aghast, pointed at them all and hoped the children weren't stolen. By Parker.

"Oh god, PARKER!"

"Hi! I'm Ivan! You're really pretty, miss! Are you an actress?"

Horror melted to charmed stupidity in a heartbeat.

"...oh, he's so _cute_! Why yes, dear, how did you know?"

"He's a lord where he comes from," Parker added helpfully, nodding wisely at her declaration. Ivan shrugged modestly, still smiling in that cute, little boy way.

"Sophie, no! No! Back away from the- OW!"

"This is Nathan. He's an uncultured beast, sweetheart, but we can pretend he's just not here. I'm Sophie! I am delighted to make your acquaint- oh Nathan, look! He has manners! You can learn from the darling child!"

Ivan gave an approving Parker a winning smile as Sophie giggle and blushed while he still held her hand. Nathan gaped. And gaped some more. And sputtered a little bit in indignation, too.

Parker thought her giggle-snorting was far cuter, overall.

From over Parker's shoulder, Miles shared looks of complete, dumbfounded disgust with Eliot and Hardison. At least he'd have some adults with some sense who would understand his unending despair at having to put up with Ivan. With women nearby.

_God_.


End file.
